“Kill it!” Woody bellowed.
Hooper sprang into action. “Grab her legs!” he cried, snatching a kicking limb, his face contorting when he made contact with her clammy, gray skin. Somehow he held on, pulling and grunting until his face turned red. Her teeth refused to release Logan’s leg, which was already missing three or four chunks of rubber wetsuit and flesh. Hooper looked up, gasping for air. “Myer!” he yelled over Logan’s cries.
Deputy Myer stared at the morbid scene, his eyes bugging out of their sockets. His lips moved but nothing came out.
“Myer!”
The deputy’s eyes blinked over to the sheriff.
“Grab the other leg!”
Myer looked to the leg and hesitated.
“Deputy!” Hooper shouted through gritted teeth.
Myer bent over and took the slimy limb in both hands. The old lady’s teeth immediately released the diver and snapped at Myer. He dropped the leg and jumped back. She hissed at Hooper and yanked her slippery leg from his hands, causing him to tumble onto his butt. The thing immediately turned Hooper’s direction, crawling on its belly. The sheriff used his legs to push himself backwards. She snarled at him one more time and kept crawling towards the water. Logan rolled in the sand like he was on fire, grabbing his bloody leg and clamoring in pain.
Johnson danced back and forth with a nonplussed look covering his face, his gun still trained on the lady nearing the water. Her dress slid off in the sand, exposing large splotches of decay covering her spiny back. Her insides were dark and smelled like spoiled cheese.
“Should I shoot it?” Johnson cried.
“Shoot her!” Rory screeched, his adrenaline pumping so hard he couldn’t feel Rachel’s fingernails digging into his arm.
“Rory, please!” she begged, trying to stop him from going any closer.
Hooper got to his feet and pounced on the naked lady, driving his knee into the back of her neck with a loud crack. She released a blood curdling scream that echoed throughout the pine-clad hills. He rode her thrashing body while she tried grabbing him with bony fingers.
“Get her arms!” Hooper ordered, snatching the cuffs from his belt.
Rory turned to Woody. “Stay with Rachel!” he said, pulling free of her death grip and rushing over to help. He jumped on the woman, wrangling one frail arm behind her back while Myer secured the other. She resisted with surprising strength and a series of wet sounding grunts, her jagged teeth gnashing at them like a saltwater crocodile.
Hooper slapped a cuff around one emaciated wrist and clicked it tight. “Bring the other one back,” he panted, readying the other cuff. “We’re going to find out what the hell this thing is.”
Myer tugged on her arm, fighting to bend it closer to the silver cuff. She squirmed and spit up black goo. Myer grunted and pulled harder. There was a loud snap as her pasty forearm broke in two, sending Myer face first into her bare bottom with a squishy smack. He squealed in horror and quickly jumped off of her writhing body.
“Sonofa…” he trailed off, wiping a thick slime from his face that smelled like baby poop. He grimaced. “I’m infected!”
The old lady screamed so loud that Rachel covered both ears with her hands. Like Woody, her round eyes nervously patrolled the water, waiting for more of them to surface. The corpse struggled madly beneath Hooper’s and Rory’s weight. Rory grabbed the dangling limb and Hooper cuffed it. They got up at the same time, avoiding her gnashing teeth like professional crocodile hunters. When she started using her legs to push herself closer to the water, Hooper grabbed her beneath two squishy armpits and dragged her back to the lifeless fire pit. He dropped her to the sand and took a step back, watching in horror as she choked and thrashed, desperate to free herself of the handcuffs.
“Believe us now?” Woody asked, staring at the thing.
Hooper wiped water from his flummoxed face, trying not to let the insanity of it all stop him from doing his job. He opened his mouth to speak and made no sound, unable to find the right words. Any words.
“We should leave,” Rachel suggested. “More will be coming!”
“I don’t believe it,” Myer said dully, trying to catch his breath.
“Sonofabitch, I’m bleeding bad!” Logan yelled, curled onto his side and squeezing his leg with both hands.
“Should I shoot it?” Deputy Johnson yelled, still aiming the gun at the old woman.
Hooper shot his palms out. “No! I want this thing alive!” he said, glancing back to the water.
Myer followed the sheriff’s gaze to the lake, wiping his hand on his pants. “What about Hudson? Where’d he go?”
Hooper shook his head and turned back to the old woman.
She flopped in the sand and threw up more of the black liquid, her skin stretching where her arm had broken.
Rory’s eyes narrowed, getting his first good look at one of the things in the daylight. “What the hell is it?”
Myer glanced up to him, still wiping his face. “Before I turn, I just want you to know I’m sorry I doubted you, Rory.” He looked to Rachel and Woody. “All of you. I just didn’t think…”
He trailed off as a putrid smell filled the air around them, stinging their eyes and making them gag. The woman screamed again and tore the skin around the broken bone in her forearm, releasing her from the metal constrictions. Her clawed hand fell to the sand and, like an injured tarantula, tried crawling to the water. Hooper was so repulsed, he narrowly avoided the senior’s other hand, which snatched through the air at him, the handcuff swinging wildly around her bony wrist. He jumped backwards and she quickly gave up, deciding to make another break for the water instead. Her good arm - and her stub – dug into the sand and pulled her along her stomach.
“Grab her legs!” Hooper yelled, taking a leg and dragging her away from the water.
Rory snatched the other limb and helped pull. She screamed and clawed at the wet sand, grabbing her own stirring hand along the way. They released her at the fire pit and watched her sink her teeth into the hand and tear off what little meat there was and hurriedly began chewing. When she swallowed, her body rejected the rancid meat and she threw up again, spitting twisted chunks of her own flesh into the sand.
Rachel gasped. “Oh my God!” she said, clapping a hand over her mouth and dry heaving.
A flock of geese, returning from their winter down south, flew by overhead, honking and flapping their way to the other side of Lake Darling. The six Minot residents watched the old lady’s thrashing fade with the geese. The craggy hand slipped from her good one and dropped to the sand with a wet thud, becoming just as motionless as its owner.
“What the hell is going on here, Sheriff?” Johnson wheezed, still aiming his gun with trembling hands.
Hooper took his ball cap off and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I…I don’t know, but...”
“There’ll be more of them!” Rachel shrieked. “Let’s leave now while we still can!”
“It’s okay. They got it under control,” Woody said gently, wrapping an arm around her.
Hooper glanced to the water and turned back to the old lady, who had gone into a tranquil fetal position. Her body twitched a few more times as thunder rumbled off in the distance.
Woody craned his neck to see over the picnic table. “Is she dead?”
“I don’t know, but whatever this thing is, it’s coming back with us,” Hooper said, his chest hammering inside his t-shirt.
Johnson wrinkled his freckled nose. “Why?”
“To find out what the hell it is.”
Deputy Myer looked out over the gray lake and returned his attention to the wrinkled lady. “It’s water-based,” he said blankly.
The group of horrified onlookers slowly rotated their heads to him.
Hooper narrowed his eyes. “What?”
Myer took a step closer and knelt down next to the unmoving body. “She needs water to survive, like a fish.”
Johnson snorted. “More like a shark!”
&nb
sp; “Lower your gun, Deputy,” Hooper told him.
Reluctantly, Johnson lowered his sidearm but didn’t holster it.
“And like a fish,” Myer continued, studying the old woman through thoughtful eyes. “She can survive out of water for a short time but then she has to get back in.”
Hooper wrinkled his face and turned to scan the lake, obviously wary of more visitors. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“He could be right,” Rory said. “You saw how bad she wanted to get back in that water. The other ones were the same way last night. They came out just long enough to grab someone and pull them back in.”
A burst of lighting fractured the southwestern horizon. Thunder cracked again, this time louder as the gray sky above darkened further.
“You don’t need an autopsy to tell what that thing is!” Woody shouted. “It’s a goddamn zombie!”
They turned to him with matching quizzical looks as light raindrops began pelting the ground and leaves around them.
“That’s impossible,” Rachel murmured, staring at Woody with watering eyes that begged him to tell her she was right. “Zombies don’t exist.”
Johnson screamed and their heads snapped around to see Logan biting into the young deputy’s ankle. Johnson fell to the ground. His gun went off, striking Myer in the belly. Myer grunted loudly and clutched his bloated stomach with both hands. He pulled them away and stared at the blood with terrified eyes.
“Myer!” Hooper shrieked.
Myer looked up and held Hooper’s horrified gaze for a second or two before dropping to his knees in the sand. He took a labored breath and glanced down to the blood spilling out of his abdomen. “I…I’ve got a new baby at home,” he sputtered, falling onto his side. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining the sand beneath him.
“Sonofabitch!” Johnson cried. “Get him off me!”
Logan yanked his head back, tearing away a mouthful of Johnson’s skin and tendons. The deputy threw his red head back and released a high-pitched shriek as the diver chewed and pulled himself closer to Johnson’s paling face.
A gunshot rang out, making everyone flinch. Logan’s head snapped backwards, brain and skull fragments blowing out the back of his wet suit. He tumbled over and landed on his back. Hooper lowered his gun and stared blankly at the diver’s body. “What’s happening?” he said weakly.
“Shit! Fucker bit me!” Johnson yelled through gritted teeth, scooting away from Logan’s lifeless body like maybe it wasn’t so lifeless yet.
Hooper blinked, whisking the fog from his eyes, and holstered his weapon. “Just take it easy, David,” he tried to say calmly, helping David Johnson up. “I need a belt!” he cried, staring at the blood gushing from the jagged gash in Johnson’s leg.
Rory undid his belt and handed it to the sheriff, who pulled it tightly around Johnson’s calf. The deputy cried out in pain, tears carving paths down his ghost white cheeks. “It’s no use, I’m screwed!”
“No you’re not,” Hooper said, his voice cracking under pressure. He pulled tighter on the belt and Johnson cried out again. “You’re going to be fine.”
“No I’m not! I’m gonna turn into one of those things!” he sobbed.
Rory turned to check on Rachel, who was now even closer to the woods. She watched them through wide eyes, her hands over her face.
“Logan turned into one of those things!” Johnson gasped. “And I’m next!”
“One thirty-two and bush, officer down! I repeat, officer down!” Hooper yelled into the radio hooked to his shoulder. He let up on the button and static answered him. “Copy that! Officer down! Officer down! We need medic! Do you copy?” His thumb released the button and more static crackled from the small speaker. “Cynthia, do you copy?”
Thunder rumbled over them as the sprinkles grew in size and frequency.
“Shit,” Hooper groaned, giving up on the radio.
Johnson balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, his breath coming in jerky spurts. “Just shoot me now!”
Hooper turned to Rory. “Anything?”
Rory looked up from his cell phone and solemnly shook his head.
Hooper glanced at Myer’s crumpled body and grimaced, rain pattering against the bill of his hat. “Check on Jason!”
Rory looked behind them to make sure Rachel was still there and went to Deputy Myer’s side. Gently, he rolled the chubby cop over onto his back. Myer’s listless arms slapped the sand and Rory jerked backwards when he found himself staring into the deputy’s vacant eyes.
“How is he?” Johnson yelled, his face growing paler by the minute.
Rory’s eyes remained fixed on Jason Myer, their war of words the night before flashing through his mind and making his gut wrench.
Johnson wiped tears from his face and took a deep breath. “Rory!” he screamed, writhing in pain.
Myer had spent what little time he had left on this planet arguing with Rory instead of being at home with his wife and baby girl and Rory felt sick about it.
“Rory!” Jonson cried again, his voice becoming hoarse.
“He’s dead,” Rory replied flatly.
Johnson stared at him with incredulous eyes and shook his head. “No,” he whispered, tears cascading over his freckled cheeks. “No, you’re wrong!”
The sky darkened with the ominous thunder heads rolling in over the lake. It looked like dusk but wasn’t even four o’clock in the afternoon yet. A jagged bolt of lightning dove into the lake, just down the shoreline, making the hair on Rory’s arms and legs stand up. The water sizzled as the smell of sulfur filled the dead air. Thunder exploded above, making the group hunch their shoulders.
“Let’s go!” Hooper said, throwing Johnson’s arm around his neck and lifting him to his feet. Johnson squealed with the movement. “We gotta get you back to the car, David.”
“I can’t,” he panted. “Just let me rest for a minute.”
Hooper got him moving. “No time. Just stay with me.”
Johnson took a gingerly step on his wounded leg and shrieked. His body tensed and went limp in the sheriff’s arms.
“Johnson!” Hooper screamed, adjusting his wet grip.
Woody ran over and took the deputy’s other arm, flopping it around his neck.
“We’ve got to get him to the hospital,” Hooper grunted, dragging his deputy past the picnic table where the sand met the dirt.
Rory tried not to stare at the trail of blood the deputy left in his wake.
Suddenly, Johnson inhaled and puked out a violent spray of breakfast pizza. They stopped to let him get it out. He coughed and gasped for air, a brown rope of saliva hanging from his bottom lip to the ground. “I don’t feel so good.”
“You can make it, David,” Hooper urged, dragging him across the campsite as the rain started coming down in buckets.
Thunder clapped again as fat raindrops assaulted the lake, creating a blurry haze along its surface. Lightning flashed, making shadows jump across their frightened faces.
“Johnson?” Hooper yelled over the storm. The deputy’s head rolled listlessly around his shoulders, rain streaming from the tip of his freckled nose.
“He’s out cold!” Rory said, bending to see Johnson’s face.
A high-pitched scream rang out behind them. They whirled in the dirt to see the old lady back on her feet again, studying them with hollow eyes. Her cracked lips and blackened tongue eagerly soaked up the rain streaming down her crinkled face, every drop seeming to make her stronger. Angrier.
“Jesus Christ,” Hooper gasped, dropping Johnson and unleashing his nine-millimeter in a flash, which triggered the old woman’s decrepit advance. He closed one eye and fired. The gun jerked in his hand with each bullet that sank into the lady’s heaving chest. She jerked backwards three times but didn’t fall. Instead, she regained her balance and barred her teeth with a sneering hiss. The sheriff opened both eyes to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing when she took off runn
ing, the handcuff flying wildly around one arm while white bone flashed from the other. Hooper pulled the trigger again, hitting her in the shoulder and doing little to impede her progress.
“Aim for the head!” Rory shouted over the driving rain.
Hooper adjusted, knowing he had less than three seconds before she crashed into him. He squeezed the trigger. The next slug found her nose and exploded out the back of her head. Skinny legs flew out from under her and she landed on her back with a soft thump. Hooper closed in, keeping his gun tightly trained on her stationary remains.
“Sheriff!” Rory bellowed.
Rachel screamed.
Floodwater Zombies Page 12